Scars To Your Beautiful
by Faithfulakuma
Summary: Mike protects a girl from being raped and forces her to file charges and they begin a friendship, of sorts, but will their friendship develop into something more? Mike/OFC
1. John Green

❝ Maybe our favorite quotations say more about us than about the stories and people we're quoting. ❞

\- John Green

* * *

"God, don't touch me, you piece of shit!" She's fighting against the man grasping at her as much as she can, but he's taller and much larger than her. Adrenaline is pumping through her veins and she finds herself scratching at him. The man growls and clutches at his face, where his cheek had been cut. He responded by giving her a sharp hit to the face, one that knocked her right to the ground. She was recovering from it when she felt him on top of her, grasping at her clothes as he had been just moments ago. She started protesting again, clawing at him. She received another hit and gave a groan, watching as her vision blurred and her head started to feel woozy from being hit so many times. She reaches underneath her skirt and removes the knife from the sheath strapped to her thigh and is about to slide it from underneath her skirt when the man is grabbed from the top of her and slammed against the wall across from them. She immediately scoots back to the wall behind her, keeping the blade out just in case.

"Fuckin' piece of garbage!" She watches as her rescuer hits the attacker, knocking him to the ground. She grasps at her coat, pulling it to cover her chest, anxiety and self-consciousness overcoming her now that she felt safe. She watched as he turned around and pushed a stray piece of dark hair from his face. He had dark brown, almost black, hair and matching (rather thick) eyebrows and his eyes were dark and in that moment, filled with a rage unlike any other. It didn't scare her, as much as she was sure it should. Slowly, he appeared to calm down, clenched fist at his side relaxing.

"I had it, thanks." She responds, standing up, pulling the coat even more around herself, feeling exposed. He looked down, seeing the blade shine beneath the sunlight, then back at her face, which was already beginning to bruise and she could feel her lip was split and beginning to bleed. He nods and shrugs, a bit sarcastically.

"I can tell." He says, chuckling slightly.

She slides the knife back into its sheath and sizes him up, watching as he removed his coat and offered it to her. She shook her head, but he still held it out to her. A heavy sigh and she takes it, putting it on and pulling it around her. The familiar scent of _man_ and unfamiliar scent of _this man_ envelopes her and it makes her a little uncomfortable but at the same time, safe. It's always been this way for her because of her experience with men. She rubs her arms as she looks over at him, watching as he did the same.

"Listen, I'm a police officer so if you want to file charges—"

"I don't, thanks."

"And why's that?" He asks.

"Well, if I filed charges against every guy that did that, I'd be going to court a lot. Trust me. Anyway, it was nice to meet you and thanks for the coat, but I have to go. I'm sorry." She pushes dark hair behind her ear, and moves to leave the alley, shooting a glare to the guy lying on the ground groaning and clutching at his face from where the other had punched him.

"Well, _I'm sorry_ , but I'm gonna have to arrest you for carrying a concealed weapon unless you can show me you have a permit?" She gasps as she feels handcuffs lock around her wrists.

"Dude! What the fuck?" She fights against him, causing his coat to shrug off her shoulders and fall about her cuffed wrists.

"Don't make me add resisting arrest to the list." He says, holding her by the shoulder and leading her to a police car by the curb.

* * *

"Do you always put a girl in cuffs when you first meet her?" She rubs her wrists before letting them fall on the desk, glaring over at the other.

"No, not always. You're special." He says, taking a seat across from her and setting the handcuffs he just released her from down on the desk. He sighs and watches as the guy from earlier (who he had the honor of punching) is muscled by another officer past them. Her own eyes find the guy and she glares a little before finding him again.

"This isn't the best way to get my attention _or_ affection, 'y know." She leans back in the seat and crosses her arms over her chest, which was rather revealed despite the fact that she was wearing two coats, including his.

"Who says I'm trying to?" He queries, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk.

"Oh, c'mon, it's so _obvious_. Why else would you **arrest** me?"

"Maybe I just want you to press charges against that douchebag for attacking and trying to rape you."

" _Maybe_..." She tilts her head as she leans forward and rests her own elbows on the desk, staring into his eyes. "If I press charges, will you let me go?"

" _Maybe_."

"Okay, then I'd like to press charges."


	2. The Doctor

❝ Some people live more in 20 years than others do in 80. It's not the time that matters, it's the person. ❞ - The Doctor, Season 3, Episode 6

* * *

Bodies are everywhere, all over the crime scene, and Mike can feel an all-too-familiar dread in the pit of his stomach. She told him he was going out for a couple drinks with friends, and said she was going to a local gay night-club (of course they'd joked about it). This was the only gay nightclub in New York; the rest were just casual bars and it was more than just a little distressing. There were forty-nine people dead, and they weren't sure of who did it yet. Mike forced himself to step over the bodies necessary to step outside to take a deep breath; he needed it. He removed his phone and pressing the keys rapidly, rubbed his slackened jaw.

Text: Where are you? Are you okay?

Sigh. He pocketed the phone and took a look around, trying to focus. He had to focus.

"'Ey, Mikey, you alright?" Came the call of Greevey and he had to compose himself before turning around.

"Yeah, I'm fine, just...a lot of fuckin' dead people."

"No kiddin'." Answered Greevey, glancing back at the club door where the coroner was wheeling out bodies by the dozen. "You got any clue about this?"

"No." He responded, turning back to the nightclub. "We got anything?"

"Might. Perp left the guns in the dumpster out back."

Mike nodded slowly and looked around again, still struggling to focus and also hide the fact that he was worried. Greevey didn't appear to notice and even if he did, he didn't say anything and just lead the way to their car with Mike following suit.

* * *

Text: Amelia, this isn't funny. Where are you?

Text: There was a shooting at that club you were at.

Text: 49 are dead.

Text: Hoping you aren't one of them.

Text: I'll kill you if you are.

She can slowly feel herself regaining consciousness and it's more painful than she wants or expected it to be. Groggy, she glances around and takes in her surroundings. White walls, a curtain, IV drip...hospital. God, she hated hospitals! How did she end up here? The lights...the music...the gunfire...slowly, it started to come back and she grabbed at her head, starting to feel a headache come on.

"Oh, sweetie, you're awake!" Hands touch her shoulder and almost instantly, she jerked away.

There was no way. This witch.

Sure enough, when she looked to her side, the sight that greeted her was the one she dreaded. An older woman, fairly tall, with long, layered blonde hair and blue eyes, dressed in a black suit. She had a ring on her finger that looked like it'd been there longer than it should've (and you could bet your ass it had been.)

"Mum?" She asked, obviously confused.

A visibly wrinkled hand came to brush through dark black strands. "Yeah, sweetie, it's me."

"W-what are you doing here?" The shock was slowly starting to wear off.

"Me and your dad are still your emergency contacts, dear. Haven't changed that, have ya?"

"D-dad's here?" A thick gulp.

"Oh, no. He's on his way with your younger sister. Are you thirsty? You must be with that damn morphine. Ya know, when I gave birth to you, when I woke up, I was so damn thirsty, I just woke up-"

"And walked right out of the hospital and went to the nearest bar and got a scotch. Yeah, I know, mum. Listen, I am really thirsty. Can you go get me some water? A-and get the nurse. I-I really hurt."

"Of course, sweetie." She smooths the girl's hair before kissing her forehead and striding out. Not long after, a nurse enters and starts checking the IV and stats.

"Excuse me." She interrupted the nurse, "I need you to do me a favor, please."

"Of course, what is it, dear?" The nurse asked.

"I need you to contact a friend of mine. His name is Mike Logan. His number's in my phone. Please. Please. I need you to call him and tell him I'm here."

The nurse nodded slowly and made her exit, with her mother returning not long after with a cup of water.

* * *

"I'm here to see an Amelia Weiss. Where is she?" Mike demanded of the front desk, impatiently rapping his nails against the marble.

"You're Mike Logan?" The nurse asked, standing.

"Yeah. Where is she? Is she alright?" He was practically leaning over the counter by now.

"She's fine. She was grazed by a bullet-" Mike was walking off now, searching the rooms. The nurse quickly followed, calling after him. "Excuse me, sir! Sir!"

"Where is she? I need to see her!"

"Sir! If you'd follow me!" She raised her voice so that Mike could hear her and he stopped, giving a defeated sigh and turning to follow her.

"Sorry, uh, do show the way."

Turns out, she was fine, really. She was resting for that moment and honestly, she was really peaceful when she slept. Dark hair fell about her pale shoulder, almost like a halo, and it was weird because he could've sworn he didn't believe in God or angels and yet, he also could've sworn an angel was laying in the hospital bed in front of him. Now that he really got the chance to look at her, she was really quite pretty. A pale face, black hair, full pale pink lips, long eyelashes and good cheekbones. She had some dark circles underneath her eyes, and the remnants of her makeup only made it worse, but somehow, it only made her prettier. Slowly, she began to wake up and he watched as bright blue eyes fluttered open and damn, it was like getting punched in the gut. Instantly, they lit up at the sight of him and she sat up, wincing slightly.

"Mike! You've gotta get me outta here!"

"What?" His face contorted instantly in concern. "Why? What are you talking about?"

"Listen, at a later date, we can paint each other's nails and talk about how much of a witch my mum is but right now-"

"Damn, you too? Are all moms bad?" He sat back in his seat, giving a defeated sigh.

"I'd like to think not." She says, laying back. "But seriously, please. My dad will be here any minute. Get. me. out. of. here. **now**."

He sighs and nods, leaving the room to start her discharge, as reluctant as he was to let her out of this place.

* * *

"Listen, I'm letting you out of here on one condition." He pushes the wheelchair she's in down the hall towards the exit, glancing behind them once.

"Oh yeah? And what's that?" She asks, rubbing her head. She was still feeling that headache.

"You stayin' with me." He stopped the wheelchair and came around it, bending down to her level. He could already see how down she was for the idea. She wasn't.

"In that case, just check me back in." She chortles, waving a hand around.

"Hey, you've been grazed by a damn bullet, okay? That doesn't mean you can just go about your daily activities. You still need to heal. Besides, it's not like you're staying with a weirdo whose gonna try something." He takes her by the hand, rubbing it. She quirks a brow, giving him the most unbelieving face he's ever seen but he's hoping, no, praying (for once in his life!) that she'll take the offer.

"That's not true. I'll be staying with a weirdo."

"Hey!"

"But I accept. _Take me home_ , Logan."


	3. Alice Sebold

❝ You save yourself or you remain unsaved. ❞ -Alice Sebold

* * *

 _It was disgusting. So disgusting. The way he was touching her, his greedy hands gliding along her innocent skin, ripping her clothes away. The struggle to be satisfied...he had it every night and every night, it ended with him in her bed. It was **disgusting.**_

 _ **"NO, DADDY. PLEASE. NO."**_

 _ **SO. DISGUSTING.**_

 _ **DISGUSTING.**_

Eyes snapped open and hands instantly grasped onto the nearest thing and that happened to be the man's arms. Wait, the man's...arms? Face contorts in confusion and it's then that she realized that she had been being shaken awake by Mike. That must have been what woke her up. Either that, or the pain in her side; whichever it was, she was thankful. She releases his biceps and gives a sigh, reaching up to push her hair back from her sweaty forehead, which it was currently sticking to. She pants, struggling to regain her breath and for a few moments, they're just staring at each other. He's holding her by the arms, and she's just gently holding onto his biceps. She'd mentioned that her mother was a witch, but she hadn't talked about her father. Surely, her father was too wicked of a man for her to even utter his name.

"I...thank you." She finally says, shrugging herself free of his grip. His hands just hang there though, face still frozen in that same, confused and calculating look. Slowly, as if in shock, he lowered his hand to his sides and he dropped to his knees on the couch beside her. He ruffled his dark hair, finally seeming to come out of this weird state he was in.

"Uh, yeah, you really seemed to be having a bad nightmare there. Kept saying, uh, _no, daddy_." He raises an eyebrow expectantly.

She swallowed thickly and felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. It was the same feeling she felt as a kid when she got caught taking out of the cookie jar; that is, if she'd had such an experience. She looked away from him, letting her dark hair create a drape between him and her, a sort-of wall between them. Blood rushed to her pale cheeks in embarrassment and some anxiety and she swallows again.

"I-I'm going back to bed." She flops so that she's facing the back of the couch, just as she had been. "You should too. Got work tomorrow, _Officer_."

He sighed and stood back up, staring at her back before striding back to his room. He flopped onto his bed, hands coming up behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. He didn't go back to sleep for another thirty minutes because he was so lost in damn thought.

* * *

"Hey, uh, listen, Greevey, can I ask you a favor?" He hadn't even sat down for the morning yet and had barely taken a sip off of his morning coffee and was already rearing to go. Greevey was curious as to what had his partner so riled, but also didn't care to poke around in his business.

"Sure, what is it?" He asks, clicking his pen and tossing it onto his desk.

"Can you get me everything we have on an Amelia Weiss?" He set his coffee down on the desk and sighed, hands moving to rest on his hips.

He was more than afraid of what he might find. With what she was saying last night in her sleep, he knew what he _might_ find and with what she'd said about her mother, he was pretty sure he'd find it. He was already regretting looking at her past. Maybe he should just stop now while he's ahead.

"Uh, yeah, sure. Any particular reason?" His partner stands and asks a fellow officer for the info before looking to his distressed partner.

"Yeah, it's for a case. The, uh, nightclub one. She's...one of the victims."

Greevey grinned a little. "Oh, yeah? You sound a little _fond_ of her."

Mike gave him a look and Greevey gave a shrug, holding his hands up in surrender.

"Hey, I'm just sayin'." His hands fall to rest at his sides. "She not being all that truthful about her past or something?"

"You could say that."

* * *

"So, she's been in trouble for drug use, possession, prostitution, battery, assault with a deadly weapon...got quite a rap sheet here, Mike." Greevey interrupted Mike's thoughts as he entered the main floor of the precinct. Mike ruffled his hair with a deep sigh, running a hand over his face.

"Wait, wait...did you say prostitution?" He asked, turning towards him.

"Uh, yeah. About a month ago, she was caught on a corner trying to solicit some guy. Apparently had some drugs on her too."

He nods slowly. _Almost made sense_. "Uh, what about parents?"

"Richard Weiss. Amy Weiss...and a sibling."

"A sibling?" Questioned Mike.

"Yeah, a Willa Weiss...oh..." A dread took over his partner's voice.

"What?" Asked Mike.

"She's dead."


	4. Elie Wiesel

❝ The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it's indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it's indifference. ❞ -Elie Wiesel

* * *

She's praying he doesn't find out. Strutting along the side of the road, dressed in her best, she's waiting for a car to pull up and flash some cash. She'd been caught a month ago, but she needed this. Her rent was due soon and she didn't know how she was gonna make it. It was necessary; that was how she always justified it. Even when there was a man emptying himself inside of her, she reminded herself that she _needed_ the fucking money. She lights up a cigarette and sits down on a bench, deciding to take a break. It seemed she wasn't getting any takers tonight. She heard someone sit beside her, but didn't look up, instead blowing the smoke out of her nose and mouth, pinching the cigarette between her fingers and resting her hand on her knee.

"So, you're still doing this shit, huh? Guess old habits die hard." The voice is young, but somehow a bit gruff and smug. She recognized that voice...she knew that voice, _all too well_.

Her head snapped up, quick enough that she's sure she's gonna feel it later, and she's met with the harsh green eyes of her ex-boyfriend. He looks exactly the same as when she had left him, only even sicker. His sandy blonde hair is disheveled and unkempt and his face is scruffy, well on his way to a stubble. There are dark circles under his eyes and his cheekbones are showing more than they should be. She's sure it's the drugs, it always had been, and it makes her more than a little uneasy. Instantly, she scoots to the edge of the bench, glancing around. Damn, no cops. They weren't around when she _really_ fucken needed 'em, were they?

"Yeah, guess so." She tried to remain calm on the outside, but felt her facade begin to falter as he scooted closer, a hand drifting across the back of her neck, brushing her long hair.

"Mhm, your hair is so soft...I miss you, Amelia." He says, his voice sickeningly sweet. She knew all too well that he was lying, that it meant nothing, but she was petrified. She couldn't move, even to shy away from him or to flick the cherry of her cigarette, and just watched as it burned and slowly fell to the pavement, still burning. Then, his hand tightened around the hair at her neck, and instantly, she started apologizing, a hand coming to touch his, begging for him to let her go. He forcibly lifts her and drags her towards an alley near the bench, making her drop the cigarette in the process.

* * *

She quietly walked into the station, following beside him as he told her to. She didn't want to be here, but he wouldn't let her leave. She can see the desk where she had first met Mike come into view and she almost feels like she's going to cry, but somehow holds it back. He pushes her through the door and she composes herself as best she can and he gets his _act_ up and she goes up to the nearest desk.

"E-excuse me, I w-was beaten and I n-need to report it."

 _She didn't want to do this_.

"Of course, ma'am, please sit down." She sat down as she was bade, and she could feel _him_ behind her and he placed a hand on her shoulder. It appeared supportive, but to her, it was a reminder that he was there and could _do_ anything to her if she failed to do as told.

"Who did this to you?" The officer asked, glancing at the man standing behind her.

 _She didn't want to do this!_

"Detective Mike Logan." The second the words are out of her mouth, she's breaking down, resting her head on the desk as she cried and the man behind her is rubbing her shoulders. Again, it appears supportive, but his hands rub her in such a way that is **threatening**.

"Detective Mike Logan?!" The officer gasped, shocked.

Just then, the door opened and the detective in question walked in, along with his partner. The officer stood immediately and turned to a fellow officer, ordering his arrest. She lifted her head from the desk long enough to see the man placed in cuffs and muscled away, leaving his partner in shock. His partner looked at her and rushed over.

"What the hell?!"

Instantly, her ex-boyfriend is stepping between them and demanding not to have her be _intimidated_ by her attacker's partner. God, what bullshit. Why was he making her do this? Sure, he was a jealous man, but nothing was going on! Between her and Mike or even between she and him. They had broken up and that was the end of it, or so she'd thought.

* * *

The flash of the camera blinded her for a moment and she has to blink a few times to clear her vision of white spots. The camera is lowered and the physician examines the bruises again before bringing the camera back up and she's blinded by the flash again. She remains fairly silent throughout the entire process, only speaking when necessary, responding with her name, birth date, residence, etc. When it was _finally_ done, it seemed like forever. The room was filled only with the sound of breath and the steady, loud beep of the EKG. She kept her eyes on the man who was forcing her to do all this: her ex-boyfriend. He had fallen asleep in the chair at her bed-side, his hand holding hers and his hand had relaxed around hers. The door opened and she moved her eyes then, seeing Mike's partner in the doorway. Instantly, she sighed and looked back to her ex-boyfriend. He stepped inside and shut the door, coming to her side.

"You and I both know Mike wouldn't touch you, not like this." He says, surprisingly calm.

"Thought my boyfriend said he didn't want me being _intimidated_ by my attacker's partner." She said flatly, refusing to look at him. It stung her to say. _My boyfriend_. _My attacker_. God help her.

"I think we both know who your attacker is." He says, then turns and leaves, slamming the door. The sound of the door slamming forced a pain to settle on her chest, a heavy weight, and it made tears brim on the edges of her eyes once more. She brought a hand to her face, feeling the tears begin to streak down her face.


End file.
